


The Still

by ghost_writer88



Series: The Solar Spark Chronicles [3]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Gen, Prowl is a devious slagger, Sideswipe has feelings, Where did all the rum [highgrade] go?, and a conscience
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-06 19:56:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1110897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghost_writer88/pseuds/ghost_writer88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sideswipe just won't stop making that illegal highgrade. So Prowl decides to put a stop to it once and for all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wherein We Learn Prowl has a Spark

It was well known that Prowl followed and enforced The Rules. It was almost impossible for him not to. The Praxian was willing to do whatever it took to maintain order and compliance amongst the ranks of the Autobots. In return, the mechs called him 'hard-aft', 'sparkless', 'drone', and other less than complimentary monikers. He did not mind though, he would endure the ridicule of billions as long as it kept them alive. For that was the truth of the matter, the rules kept mecha functioning and Prowl wanted there to be as many of his people functioning as possible when the war ended. Regardless of the accusations of only being concerned about losing skilled warriors he truly cared about each and every one of them.

Over time some mechs came to understand and even support his desperate way of thinking. The most important of which was Jazz. His lover and best friend had once belonged to the crowd who thought him emotionless, until a fateful set of events caused the visored Polyhexian to see otherwise. While Prowl's lover was not anywhere near as strict as the SIC, he was watchful and he tenses to use his socialization skills to maneuver troublemakers say from devious pursuits before they landed in Prowl's office for a disciplinary hearing.

Somehow however, Prowl had lost some of that support after they crashed on Earth.

It began shortly after the Autobots realized that A) the Decepticons were not leaving the planet so long as even one energy source remained; B) that even if either faction had been inclined to leave, neither could, due to the distinct lack of operable spaceships; C) that living in the half-crushed Ark would be a trial worthy of the Pit until the majority of the living quarters were cleared of rubble; and D) despite defeating the marauding Decepticons at every turn, they were still not winning the war.

It was true, they were in a stalemate. Decepticons attacked a powersource, the Autobots repelled them, both sides went home wounded, and no discernable advantage was gained by either side. It was depressing, and everyone was trying to cope in their own way.

Ironhide decimated the artillery range.

Ratchet obsessed, more than usual, over chassis check-ups for the crew.

Optimus guilt-tripped himself until the Matrix intervened.

The twins pranked the functioning out of the entire Autobot collective.

Bkueatreak talked faster and was harder to interupt.

And Jazz? Jazz threw parties. And more parties.

Now, Prowl was not adverse to allowing his lovers an emotional outlet, especially when it had the added benefit of serving as a similar release for the other Ark mecha as well. What he drew the line at though, was contraband. Contraband consisted of a good many things, a long list of items that Prowl had all but memorized. At the top of the lost was unsanctioned highgrade, and it was this illegal item that kept appearing at Jazz's parties. Therefore, as SIC it was Prowl's responsibility to shut down the festivities as soon as the disapproved beverages showed up.

It was after the fourth such bust that he realized his lover was withdrawing his support of Prowl's insistence on rule adherence. Culminating in the irate black and white saboteur following the Praxian back to his office to rant at him.

"...and for goodness sake Prowl, do ya want ever'one ra stay depressed?! Cuz tha's where ya aimin' 'em! They gonna start self-destructin' n' fightin' amongst themselves if'n ya don' let 'em have this outlet!"  
"I do not mind the partying Jazz, it is the illegal highgrade the twins keep brewing. It is unsanctioned and untested, and I cannot allow this dangerous violation of the regulations to continue." came the righteous, stern reply.  
Jazz mined strangling his lover with an equally strangled scream of frustration. "Fine then, have it ya way, but don' blame meh when tha discipline rates go out tha porthole."

The irate Polyhexian stalked to the door, but turned at the last moment to deliver a parting shot. "N' Prowl, if'n tha crew can' have tha twins' brew, wha' 'xactleh r' they supposed ta drink?!"

Jazz stormed out leaving behind a very confused SIC. What did he mean 'what are they supposed to drink'? They were supposed to only use the regulation highgrade provided through... suppliers.

Prowl sat back in dawning mortification. They no longer had energon suppliers thanks to the lack of energon on Cybertron and the Ark's crew had been manufacturing their own sustenance-grade since waking up on Earth. Making the lowgrade and midgrade that served as their food was neither difficult nor dangerous and the majority of the soldiers had small solar collectors imbedded in their systems as part of their self-preservation protocols. It was also impossible to overcharge on sustenance-grade. Therefore neither of those energon forms were regulated and thus the issue of suppliers had never before come up.

Well, Prowl would see to doing something about that. It would be his apology to his lover and the crew for his oversight.  
____________________________________  
"It's a trick! A Decepticon plot of some sort! I'm telling you to listen to me! We're all going to be deactivated!"

Red Alert's shrill cries could be heard halfway across the Ark and Optimus Prime had to struggle to stifle a sigh. The event with which the Security Director was taking offense was well known to the Prime as he had been briefed ahead of time on both the need for secrecy and the probable effect where a certain red and white Lamborghini was concerned. The individual occurrences were, in truth, rather innocuous which therefore made them more suspicion inducing for Red Alert.

First. Large shipments of raw metals and idea had arrived at the Ark and were quickly claimed by Wheeljack as pertinent to an experiment of his. The science officer had then ensconced himself in his lab for a decacycle. A decacycle with no explosions, no funny chemical clouds, and no finished inventions being gleefully shown around by an addle-processored engineer.

Next, Red Alert documented multiple occasions where Hoist and Grapple had been seen to be secretively plotting with large datapads that were always swept into subspace whenever anyone came near. Now, these two events would not appear to be connected, however, after immediately after Wheeljack finished in his lab he sought them out and told them. "Ah got it done. They're ready wheneva' ya'll wan'em."

Then there had been the incursion on the Decepticons' spacebridge that, while successful, had served no discernible purpose. That was very suspicious. It also indicated a potential breach in the command structure as it had been Prowl who had ordered the attack. He was clearly compromised.

Lastly, there was the unsanctioned appropriation of storage room four and the temporary closing of the rec room. Neither had been passed by security and the fact that the storage room was under the rec room screamed conspiracy. And after two orns of being blocked from investigation by the untrustworthy SIC, Red Alert had taken his issue to the top.

Optimus knew that the only way to soothe the high-strung SD would be to show him what was going on, but he did not wish to ruin Prowl's plan. So, he opened a commline to the instigator of the meeting.

-:- Prowl, please tell me you are ready to reveal your project. -:-

-:- Ah, I take it that Red Alert has finally chosen to go over my helm for his paranoid imaginings? -:-

-:- Yes. -:- was the flat reply.

Prowl chuckled. Chuckled! -:- I have just notified Sideswipe to come to my office if the two of you would like to meet us there. -:-

Optimus was not amused that his Second was laughing at his expense. At least, not that he was willing to show, the Praxian laughed far too little to make a spectacle of it. -:- We shall be there shortly. -:-

‘*’…‘*’…‘*’…‘*’

Sideswipe trudged down the hall in dejected abandon. He was in trouble with Prowl. Again. What was odd was that he could not recall having broken any of the rules recently, but he was sure the SIC would enlighten him post-haste upon his arrival. When he arrived at the aforementioned’s door he flopped his servo against the doorchime as he resigned himself to another orn of scrubbing the washracks with Carly’s old toothbrush. He straightened up and reassessed his level of ‘slagged’ when he saw who was waiting for him. Prowl, Jazz, Red Alert, Inferno, and Optimus Prime were arrayed around the room like an execution jury.

“Whatever it is, I didn’t do it.” Sideswipe said, more than slightly panicked. For this many of the senior officers to be present the offense had to be something majorly awful and he knew he had not committed anything of that magnitude since at least a vorn before the Ark launched.

The officers laughed warmly, except Prowl who never laughed, and the Prime motioned him to the hotseat. When he had settled gingerly into place the SIC began the lecture. “Sideswipe, according to the file I possess on you, you have been convicted of twenty-eight possessions of illegal highgrade, thirteen instances of discovered contraband highgrade trafficking, and thirty-seven indictments of bringing unsanctioned highgrade to regulation victory celebrations. Do you acknowledge that this is true?”

Sideswipe nodded, there was no point in denying what was already proven.

The stoic Praxian nodded back and made a notation on a datapad. His cold blue optics affixed the frontliner to his seat ad the next bit was delivered. “Very well. The senior officers have become tired of your repeated offenses and have chosen to enact a more permanent solution. Before we render that verdict do you have anything you wish to say?”

The red mech’s spark sank to his peds in despair. ‘Permanent Solutions’ in the Autobots usually involved multivorn imprisonment or exile, and the thought that his actions were going to cause him to leave Sunstreaker behind, alone, tore his spark. He did not manufacture the highgrade out of any malicious intention nor did he do it for any kind of personal profit. He actually started making it after a particularly harsh battle where they almost lost Prime and everyone needed a stiff drink to help erase it from their processors. And, well, after that everyone started coming to him when they needed to forget for a while. He made sure they did not overcharge too badly and they returned the favor by not committing suicide.

Sideswipe had been a brewer back on Cybertron before the War so he knew how to make the highgrade without any potentially lethal side-effects. His license had expired during his tenure in the Pits and virtually none of his current compatriots knew that he possessed such talent legally.

There was nothing he could say for himself, but he could at least make sure Sunstreaker was safe. “Just, can you tell Bluestreak to take care of Sunny for me?”

Prowl nodded and stood. Sideswipe waited for him to deliver his fate, but the SIC walked out of the office followed by the rest of the officers. The frontliner twisted around in confusion and saw the Praxian motioning for him to follow. Oh. They had set up a tribunal with a court of his peers no doubt, and were going to issue his punishment there. A full court would be the entire ship’s complement and he cringed at the thought of having this done in front of all his friends. He knew there was no way out though, so he pulled himself together and strode proudly into place behind Prowl.

‘*’…‘*’…‘*’…‘*’

They made a solemn procession down the hall, Prowl and Prime first then Sideswipe a step behind, and the others behind him. For some reason the halls seemed longer than usual to the frontliner and every turn seemed to hold new apprehension for the doomed mech. They stopped in front of a nondescript door in the storage section and the officers turned to him. Prowl indicated that he should approach the door and he did so. Sideswipe braced himself to face everyone he cared about while being shamed, and entered. It… was not a tribunal. In fact, it was not even a storage bay. It… looked very much like a Cybertronian bar?

What… the… frag?

He heard a short chuckle behind him and turned to see Prowl smiling at him. Prowl. Who never smiled, much less laughed. It was a soft smile, a just barely there upturning of the corners of his mouth. It made the Praxian look younger, and just for a moment he could see just why Jazz was so attracted to the stoic black and white. Prowl was speaking to him now so he came out of his do-not-understand daze long enough to listen.

“Jazz brought it to my attention that we do not have any sanctioned highgrade suppliers to deter mecha from seeking alternate sources for their drink, and since you have shown yourself willing to brew the stuff you have been elected to oversee the bar and refinery.”

Sideswipe felt his jaw drop and he stared at his superior in disbelief. When Prowl simply continued to look at him with half-concealed amusement he shifted his gaze back to the room and really looked at it.

The bar was situated along the back wall and far corner in a graceful curve. Its top was a glossy black faux stone, that on closer review showed itself to be expertly dyed and textured metal, with chrome trim. Behind the bar there was a brewer’s utopia in the unbelievable selection of raw energon sources and additives. Next to the curved end of the bar was a DJ’s station and an ample dance floor. The other back corner framed a spiral staircase leading up into the ceiling and the frontliner suspected that its installation had been the source of the rec room’s temporary closing. The remainder of the room was filled with comfortable looking tables and booths. The most striking features of all though, were the walls themselves. They were covered in murals of home and Sideswipe felt a pang of longing lance through his spark.

As he gazed at the beautiful creations he realized that he recognized the work. The sound of someone walking up behind him made the frontliner turn, and he saw that it was Sunstreaker. His brother had a rarely shown soft smile on his face and the yellow mech stood there while his brother stared at him in shock. “Sunny you knew?”

Sunstreaker nodded. “Prowl called me in two weeks ago to ask my opinion of the décor.” He said in his usual gruff voice.

The golden twin had not done anything even remotely more artistic than a few half-finished sketches in several vorn and Sideswipe had all but given up that his brother would ever paint again. The red mech felt his optics start to pool with coolant and he reached out to grab his twin’s servo. Then he led the way into the bar for a closer inspection, never once letting go of the other half of his spark.

After they finished admiring the place Sideswipe turned back to Prowl with a grin. “So, does this place have a name?”

The Praxian nodded, stern expression back in place. “Yes, I picked it out myself. Hoist and Grapple are installing the sign now if you would like to see it.”

Sideswipe rushed out the door dragging Sunstreaker behind him and looked up at the construction mechs who were placing the last fastening rivets in the new sign. Sideswipe’s optic ridges rose, for there in bright copper Cybertronian glyphs was the name, The Still. The red twin could feel his already impossibly wide smile stretch even further and he started to laugh. He whirled swiftly and swept Prowl up into a huge hug, ignoring how the officer froze in surprise. “Thanks Prowl, this is awesome!”

“You are welcome.” The flustered Praxian replied. “There is one more thing though.”

The frontliner leaned back to look at the mech he still held in an elated embrace and raised an optice ridge in anticipation. The SIC did not make him wait long. “I knew that you would not always want, or be able, to spend every evening here, so I acquired a staff member for you whose only role will be to work this bar. He dabbled in bar-tending on Cybertron before the War and should be a great help to you.”

With that, Prowl motioned to a red and white visored minibot who stepped out from behind the Prime. The small mech held out his servo to Sideswipe, who took it reluctantly.

“Hi! I’m Swerve. I’ve always wanted to be a full-fledged bartender, so thanks for letting me join ya!” he said cheerfully.

Sideswipe just looked up at Prowl. “A minibot?”

The Praxian smirked faintly. “Would you rather spend all your free time here?”

The red-plated mech turned back to Swerve. “Nice to meetcha. I’m Sideswipe, your new boss. I hope you enjoy working here on Earth.”

Swerve smiled big and wide. “I’m sure I will.”

Then the twins, and their new minibot minion, walked into The Still to get it ready for its opening night.


	2. Curiosity

The Still was a marvelous hit with the previously deprived Autobots and all of them were careful not to do anything that might get the new privileges taken away. Everyone had a suspicion of who would mess up first and get the bar closed, temporary or otherwise. Smokescreen, not being one to pass up a sure thing, set up a betting pool. The top contenders were currently the Dinobots and the twins themselves followed closely by the gestalts and the more opinionated of the minibots.

All of the suspicions were wrong.

*****  
Blaster went thundering down the hall, nearly flattening several mecha in his haste to reach the Security Center. He skidded around the corner and nearly faceplanted into the door. The host-mech frantically pressed the entry chime in quick succession and was greeted with the suspicious face of the Security Director on the viewscreen.

“What do you want?” asked Red Alert as he glared at the errant communications officer.

“They’re gone!” Blaster exclaimed. “Ah let them go without meh an’ now they’re gone!”

Red Alert sat up straighter, a potential mechnapping was a serious breach of security and he nearly hit the lock-down switch before he had another thought. What if it was a ruse? This could be an attempt to disrupt the Ark’s functioning and sabotage Teletraan1. After all, the carrier had not said who was missing. The SD looked over the cameras and made note of where everyone was before he answered, it would not be wise to set off a traitor who might have help waiting in the wings.

“Just exactly who is missing?” The red and white Lamborghini asked neutrally. He was unaware that his horns were already flashing blue and giving away his current thought patterns.

Blaster wrung his servos in the beginnings of panic, if Red Alert would not help him all was lost. “The twins.”

Now the Security Director knew that the host was lying. He could see Sideswipe and Sunstreaker clearly on the monitor for the entrance to the Ark where they were doing a shift of guard duty. He narrowed his optics, what plot was the traitorous Polyhexian trying? His horns began to spark as his glitch began to come forward.

“I knew you were in cahoots with the Decepticons, I knew it! Now I have proof and Prowl will have to listen to me! The twins are at the entrance and I bet you want me to lock down the Ark so they will be trapped outside where they can get ambushed! They are among our strongest warriors and it would be a great boon to the ‘Cons if we were to lose them. Oh, I have seen through your plot and now security is coming to arrest you, traitor!” shrieked the paranoid mech.

“No!” exclaimed Blaster, trying to explain before it was too late. “Not Siders an’ Sunny, my twins, Rewind an’ Eject. Ah let them go ta tha rec room for noontime energon ahead o’ meh an’ when Ah got there, they were gone!”

But Red Alert would not hear it. It was all a ploy, a trick to get him to let down his guard and he would not fall for it.

At least not until Inferno, Prowl, and Jazz showed up to show him reason. After they finally got the SD calmed down and sorted out what had caused the panic in the first place Prowl called an all-points search bulletin out over the comm to begin the hunt for the missing bitlets.

The SIC would have permitted the sealing of the Ark’s entrances, but the time it took to settle Red had made that a moot point. If the twin cassettes had been sparklingnapped by the Decepticons they would be long gone by then and the locked blast doors would slow down the search parties if the two were simply hiding. Why the cassettes would be hiding no one could figure out, but it was a tiny bit of hope when the other option was so forlorn.

As the joors went by that slim hope dwindle to despair as the younglings could not be found. Until finally, when all optimism had failed a comm from Jazz had them all rushing down to the storage facilities.

Blaster was last to arrive, having been searching the outside duct egresses for signs of struggle and when he dashed off the lift he nearly slammed into a wall of mecha. It looked as though the entire crew had come to see the little ones hiding spot. The worried host pushed his way through the crowd until he made it to Jazz and the black and white merely pointed him inside. Blaster balked at first, for they were at the entrance of The Still and he could not countenance a reason for his mechlings to be in the bar. Resigned to the apparent fact that Jazz could not be mistaken he entered, and stopped in shock.

Now, Rewind and Eject had grown, as mechlings do, over the course of the war and were currently a single vorn away from their majority. They must have been curious as to what they saw the ‘big bots’ doing in the evenings and had decided to try it for themselves. The two were smashed and that was putting it politely. It seemed they had decided to be systematic about it at first and had pulled down almost half of Sideswipe’s stock so they could sample each flavor of highgrade. The first ten or so bottles had apparently not met with good review from the mini-mechs, for they still sat on the countertop. The blends that evidently the two cassettes really liked were empty and scattered like so much shrapnel around the plastered little mecha.

The coup de grace of the situation though, was the fingerpaintings on the once pristine bar divider. At some point during their inebriation the cassettes must have taken notice of the different colors the highgrade came in due to the additives mixed into the blends and decided that it would make for good art medium.

Blaster was horrified. His mechlings had disgraced themselves thoroughly and would surely be punished by the officers. They knew they were not old enough for the more potent grades of energon, and yet here they were giggling like all was right in the world. The mortified mech turned to apologize on behalf of his offspring and found that, rather than being angry, the officers were most amused by the situation. Even Prowl had a faint smirk flitting around his lipplates. Blaster tried to stumble through an apology anyway and was stopped by a raised servo from his Prime.

“My friend, it is alright. Mechlings will be mechlings, and most of their age are very curious. When they are sober again I would have you bring them to my office for a small talking to, after you are done with doing the same of course.” said the august leader. “I shall also have Prowl make a rule about the age limitations for entering the bar to prevent such a happening again.”

Blaster nodded at the merciful judgment and gathered up his sloshed cassettes for a trip to the Medical Bay. He was just turning around to make his way out when he heard Bluestreak ask a most horrible question. “So, who won the bet? Because I know I didn’t bet on the cassettes, and Sunny and Sides didn’t, and who would have thought they would be the ones to break the rules first, they have always been so good. Is it like that hormonal change that the human sparklings go through when they reach mechlinghood and go all crazy and stuff?...”

As one the crowd turned to Smokescreen to hear the verdict, however, the blue and red Praxian was hesitant to say and it had much to do with the fact that Blaster was glaring at him as if to dare him to involve his lover’s offspring in his gambling machinations. The nudging and prompting from the crowd won out though, and Smokescreen resigned himself to a cold berth for the next few decacycles. “Well, actually, someone did bet on the cassette twins.”

“Who?” came the accusing call, though it was lost as to who spoke with the way the crew crowded around the master gambler.

“It was Perceptor.” answered the Datsun uncomfortably, but thankfully the pressure was removed from him as everyone turned to swarm the poor scientist who had somehow deduced the correct outcome despite his usual obliviousness to the goings on in the Ark.

Blaster was not paying attention anymore as he was too busy trying to overcome his deep embarrassment by taking it out on the unhelpful crowd that would not move out of his way so he could get to the lift. As he finally made it through, via a few well-placed elbows, he thought to himself that he did not care if the Prime was being kind, Rewind and Eject were still going to be grounded until the very orn of their majority vorn.


End file.
